"Our scientists see no such immediate danger." Miaree said, hiding her shock, her doubt.
"Then you must take me to them," he said. "I can understand, now, your reluctance to welcome us. Your scientists must know that the end will come, but they are figuring the approach of the fires at a constant speed, right? They have no conception of the multiplication of effect?"
"For that," she said pointedly, "we have only your word. And you have something to gain."
"But I can prove it, with data, with the results of our observations. My god, haven’t you sent ships toward the collisions to measure?"
She turned away. He knew, then.
"You don’t have star travel," he said.
She looked at him. "Now do you see why we must talk first?"
He shrugged. "So we are further advanced in one field than you. You have your own advances. This ship, for example. It operates on a principle which is unknown to me. But our weapons are similar. That is, the weapon which you so pointedly demonstrated to me is similar to the weapons of our own fleet. Yet we work for the same thing, for survival of our races. Can’t you see that we have that, at least, in common?"
"We have that in common," she agreed. "We will talk of it."
"I am willing to talk," he said. "I will be eager to meet your scientists, to compare notes. I will be more than pleased to send the greeting of our people to your Interplanetary Council, to your leaders. I will open my heart to convince them of our good intentions."
"First," Miaree said, "you must convince me."
He touched her hand. She withdrew it quickly, but the touch, to him, was pleasant. He had been wanting to touch her, to see if she were as soft as she looked. Her fine fur was a tactile pleasure on his fingers.
"Miaree, am I to understand that you are not taking me to the seat of your government?"
"We are going," she said, "to Outworld, where we will have guarded privacy for our talks."
He accepted it. He smiled. "I could not ask for a more beautiful companion. And I pray that there is time."
Chapter Thirteen
She had visited Outworld as a student. She was familiar with Outworld Gate, a clean, modern facility which was the pride of Artonuee technology. Outgate differed from the satellites of the other planets to an astounding degree. Outgate was sheer luxury. Nothing had been spared in its building, for through Outgate passed the most meaningful beings in
Artonuee society, the egg-carrying females bound for their tryst with nature, and a chosen male. Leaving Outgate were the products of a planet devoted to beauty. Outworld diamond sculptors, for example, sent their creations through Outgate to grace the dwellings of the scientists and workers on New World, to lighten the darkness and chill of Five.
Outgate had been seeded with the profuse botanical wonders of the four worlds. It bloomed. It sent a fragrance of flowers into the nostrils of the visitor when the hatch opened and gave vivid promise of the beauty lying below on the garden planet.
The commercial docks of Outgate were lighted around the clock and heavy, utilitarian drivers had right of way approaching the satellite. Monitoring the traffic, Miaree heard departure instructions for a driver of the Fashion Guild, a ship laden with the soft, clinging cloaks and the other garments which were so beloved of the Artonuee female; she heard the arrival of a cargo driver from the belt, its cargo jewels destined for the workshops of the stone craftsmen.
Rei was much impressed by the density of the traffic and admired Miaree’s skill in holding the flyer off Outgate until, after a lengthy wait, she was given permission to approach. Ahead of them and behind them flyers drifted, guidance jets being activated to leave a mist in space for a moment before the vacuum ate it.
The flyer docks were crowded, bustling with arrivals and departures. Females with the exciting aroma of pleele passed them as Miaree and Rei stood, watching the dock boys secure Rim Star in her berth, and Miaree’s heart sank, for the smell, the joyous, expectant look on the faces of her sisters, reminded her of her loss.
Four members of the guard converged on them, voicing their greetings to Miaree, bowing respectfully. Their drop to planetside interrupted the busy schedule of Outgate, for no other passengers were allowed. They had an entire shuttle to themselves, with only the four guardsmen for company.
And so, Miaree came back to Outworld. Leaving the terminal, they passed a driver being loaded with light paintings, visible in their transparent crates. Rei, astounded, paused. The guardsmen shuffled uncertainly. Miaree, lost in her misery, stood impatiently as the alien examined the glowing, ever-changing works of art. The air of Outworld was sweet to her. There was the buzz of insects and the song of the small, flying creatures and the feeling of peace. She had sacrificed all of it for what? For him? For the alien who stood, eyes wide, watching the workmen load the light paintings?
She moved a few paces ahead, looked out beyond the bounds of the terminal to the countryside. She must stop thinking thus, she told herself. It was past. Her time would come again, when all this was settled. And then out of her would flow life, the glowing, ruby globes of life in the form of fertilized eggs. Out of her they would flow and they would be carefully tested and the accepted ones would be crated lovingly and flown to the old home planet, there to hatch and join the billions of ifflings as they waited for a homecoming. She would then have made her contribution to the continuity of life. Small copies of her consciousness would be crawling the limbs of the huge trees, eating endlessly of the juicy leaves, waiting, waiting, waiting.
She remembered old Beafly, the mechanic, and wondered if his desire had been fulfilled. Had his iffling been female, producing a wingling, as he’d wished? And what would be the fate of her ifflings? Would they produce dull males or flashing beauty in the form of winglings?
As she dreamed, she felt a familiar stirring. "Ah, no," she said aloud. "No, no, no."
They had warned her. "There is always the possibility, my dear," said the doctor who had taken her eggs unripened from her body, "that certain side effects will be manifest. False readiness occurs in about one out of five such cases. It usually is triggered by an emotional experience, simulates the real thing to an amazing degree. Should this happen, there are drugs. Of course, there is a very real desire to mate. But such a mating is a sterile, joyless event. It is to be avoided." Drugs. Yes. She would seek a doctor. But the twinge of almost joyful pain in her was gone and the alien was walking toward her, his mouth moving in the barbaric sounds of the Delanians. She put her fear, her doubt, behind her, smiled formally, and motioned the alien toward the waiting roller. The driver had his instructions. He was silent, glancing with interest at the purple-clad lady and the strange creature who was so like him and yet so different. His instructions did not include an explanation His was not to question.
The route led them through dense forests, past secluded Jove nests and artistically designed dwellings, shops, studios. Flowers perfumed the way.
Once Miaree saw a lady and her chosen walking hand in hand along a by-path, and there was once again a twinge of sadness in her.
She diverted her mind by explaining Outworld to the alien. She pointed out the juplee trees from the World; the pleele, native to Outworld; the strange, mosslike growths from Five. She talked of the flying creatures and the insects and explained that all of Outworld was a storage house for the life forms, bird, insect and plant, from the entire system. She explained the technique of light painting and talked of jewel sculpture and, as they passed a settlement of musicians, tried to explain the twenty-tone scale used in Artonuee music. He was baffled as she illustrated by singing the scale, for the upper reaches of the scale were beyond his range of hearing.